


Pain That Binds

by KyberWolf



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Beholding Avatar Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Best Friends, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Other, Self-Harm, Self-Worth Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, being an avatar sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26126809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KyberWolf/pseuds/KyberWolf
Summary: For Day 1 of the The Magnus Archives Hurt/Comfort Week!!Prompt: Self-worth Issues  ♢    Pretend  ♢   Shaky hands"Daisy stood, lending some support by taking Jon’s hands. He winced, and Daisy pulled her palm away, now slick with red. The scent wafted into her nose, her throat. The urge to spill the rest of his blood was almost unbearable. She choked it down."
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist & Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 4
Kudos: 75





	Pain That Binds

Jon’s hands were shaking as he tried to cut into a slightly stale bagel he’d scavenged from the breakroom. He was weak with hunger, though not the right kind. Not for food that didn’t taste like anything anymore and didn’t satisfy anyway. But Basira insisted he at least try to keep some fat on his ribs through normal human means, and it was not a good idea to argue with her. He had to prove that he still wanted to be human. 

He flinched when the knife inevitably slipped and sliced his knuckles instead. Pain raced through his nerves and blood welled up and dripped onto his desk. Only for a moment. The cut sealed itself in seconds and Jon was once again left without distraction from the gnawing emptiness inside him. And a reminder that this pretending wasn’t working. Nothing was working, and well...what was the point anyway? Jon did want to stay human, but who was he even being human for anymore? Basira had made it clear that she would give him the chance, but if he couldn’t manage it, he wasn’t worth it. Maybe she was right. It seemed he’d managed to drive everyone away already, and they’d had the right to leave him. Georgie was right to distance herself. Tim had been right to hate him. Martin? Jon knew he had no right to miss Martin as much as he did. 

And yet. If he let his humanity shrivel away, however flawed it was, he would only be making himself even more pliable to Elias. He still didn’t understand why, but if he let himself fall completely under the Eye’s control, the people he wanted to care about would suffer even more. If Jon was worth something to only one person, then it sure as hell wasn’t going to be Elias. 

Jon surrendered the bagel and paper plate to the trash and slumped back in his chair, closing his eyes and trying to center himself. A pile of old statements lay on the desk but his gaze wouldn’t focus on them. None of them stood out the way they used to, as if now that he’d gotten a taste of real prey, the Eye would disdain anything less. The world tilted and his head ached with restless, seeking static. God, if only it would shut up. At least for a moment. He ran his fingers over the burn scars on his right hand. Jude Perry’s mark still twinged slightly if he pressed in the right places.The maze of welts was now too familiar to be much distraction, but the pain dulled the static just a little. Just enough. 

Suddenly knowledge erupted in his mind, just before he heard Elias’s deliberate footsteps in the hallway outside his office. A tiny burst of fear fluttered in Jon’s chest. He knew better than to be afraid, but what if Elias knew? Knew everything that Jon was thinking and feeling. Jon tensed and dug his nails deep into the scars, sparking tingling pain, breaking the skin, trying to stop himself from shaking so damn much. Elias stopped in front of his door, mockingly, with no intention of coming in. He didn’t need to, to see how Jon was doing.

Eventually he left, but Jon’s anxiety didn’t abate and he found himself continuing to dig at the small scrapes he’d manage to draw a tiny bit of blood from. They... weren’t healing. Jon opened his hand and forced his eyes to focus. Now that he’d stopped digging at them, they did start to close. Jon frantically scratched at them again. A burst of hope that his body might still be capable of working normally seized all his concentration. The static died. He ripped at the skin of his palm, desperately trying to keep the scratches open, as if they were his life line slipping away, but they were healing faster now. Anger built inside him, simmering with fear. Without thinking he snatched the knife off his desk and dragged it over his palm. Pain snapped his mind into focus and then the wound disappeared, mocking him. Jon glared at the scars that lined his palm and dotted his arms. All these scars. Like brands. Yet his body refused to bleed. 

The static built in his head again, even more insistent than before. Well, if it wouldn’t shut up and leave him alone...With white hot determination, Jon seized upon the will of the Beholding and slashed again at the Desolation’s brand. 

It burned. It bled. And it didn’t stop. Tears streamed down Jon’s face but instead of his own triumph, he felt only the Eye. It was enjoying this. He’d marked himself with his own power, and the action was only making its hold stronger, as it drank up the fear that swam under his brief rebellion. 

Jon sat there, defeated, pinned under the Watcher’s sight, sucking in erratic breaths as the pain only grew worse and worse. He wondered if he’d just done himself in. He’d refused to feed his patron and now it seemed he’d offered himself up instead. Perhaps it would be better if he just let it consume him. But just as Jon remembered that despite everything, he really didn’t want to die, something changed. The Eye’s gaze shifted towards something else. Jon saw it too; the beginning of a small tragic scene within a longer story. Jon’s mind prickled. It was the enticing glimpse of prey. But beneath the Eye’s hunger, his own instincts resurfaced and he knew that something was wrong. Someone he cared about was hurting. 

“D-Daisy.” The whisper left his lips before he realized he knew who needed him. He pushed himself out of his chair, the effort taking every ounce of strength he had left. Blood rushed away from his head, vision blackening, and he pitched forward. He caught himself on his desk, and cried out as his lacerated hand slid against the wood. Stupid, stupid, stupid thing to do. Jon belatedly noticed that his other hand was still clutching the bread knife. Cursing it and himself, he hurled it away. Perhaps Martin had been right to be worried all those years ago, about letting Jon near knives. Even if that scar had actually been Micheal’s doing.

He had to brace himself on the desk for several moments, waiting for the dizziness to ebb enough to walk. The Eye was still nagging, telling him to seek out the pain and fear of his next victim. He told it to fuck off. Taking a deep breath he dug for the strength to leave the office, tucking his injured hand against his chest and using the other to steady himself against the wall as he cautiously followed his Sight down the gray corridors of the Institute. For once he was grateful for their emptiness. He was pretty sure Martin would have a heart attack if he saw him like this. At least, the Martin he remembered and longed for.

Daisy’s room wasn’t far away,luckily. Jon nearly fell through the door, but managed to keep his feet as he fumbled for the light switch.

“Daisy?”  
He’d heard her startle as soon as he’d entered, Knew she was sitting on the corner of her cot, against the wall, knees drawn to her chest, blood weeping down her arms. 

“J-Jon? Go away. Please.”

“I, um. No.” 

////

Daisy buried her face into her knees, determined not to look at Jon. Why did he have to be so damn stubborn? She could smell his blood, hear his labored breathing, feel his exhaustion. Whatever had happened, he’d made himself excellent prey. He needed to leave. Daisy dug her nails deep into the scratches she’d made, trying to focus on her own pain and blood, keeping the Hunt’s attention away from Jon. 

“Jon, you’re bleeding, the blood--I’m going to hurt you if you don’t get out. Please.”

“No.” Daisy didn’t notice that he’d approached until he tentatively touched her wrists. She snarled and flinched away. Jon retracted his hands for a moment.

“You’re not going to hurt me. Because I’m not afraid of you. I am not afraid of you, Daisy.” 

Daisy considered that. He was...right. She knew it. She could still kill him. The Hunt still wanted her to. But...Daisy realized she didn’t need to. 

“Huh.” She grunted. This time when Jon gently guided her hands away from her arms, she let him. She could feel him trembling, and as concern began to replace the urge to tear into something, she let herself unfold and look up at Jon. 

“God, Jon. You look like shit.” 

Daisy stood, lending some support by taking Jon’s hands. He winced, and Daisy pulled her palm away, now slick with red. The scent wafted into her nose, her throat. The urge to spill the rest of his blood was almost unbearable. She choked it down.

“Jon--”

“Y-yeah, I know. You’re not much better off, you know.”

“What happened--”

“I--I, I hurt myself. I hurt myself like you’re doing now. It didn’t help. I fucked up. P-please stop.”

Daisy nearly buckled under his slight weight as his legs gave out. She cursed herself for still being so weak. 

“Fuck! Jon, I can’t--wait, there we go.” Muscles burning, Daisy sat Jon down on the cot as gently as she could. She knelt in front of him, brushed his long hair away from his face.

“You are such an idiot. Hey, look at me. Can you see me okay?” His eyes locked on hers for long enough that she could hope he wasn’t going to pass out. He nodded. 

“Right.” She dug the box that contained her medicine out from under the cot, rummaging for the gauze and antibiotic she knew was stored in there as well. She took Jon’s hand in hers and had it cleaned and wrapped with practiced efficiency. 

“Okay. I guess I should get you some water or tea or something. Wait here--”

With strength he shouldn’t have had, Jon grabbed her wrist and pulled her down beside him. 

“You too.” He said, fumbling the cap off the antibiotic cream and smearing some onto the welts in her forearms. Daisy was confused until they started to sting as Jon’s fingers made clumsy, uncoordinated contact. It wasn’t until then that she actually remembered they were there. 

“Oh. Right.” 

She was used to them now, apparently. She’d reopened them so many times now that they were well on their way to scarring, the seams of skin raw and tired of trying to heal. Looking down at them as Jon began to cover them with bandaging, she realized that she didn’t want them there forever. She’d promised Basira that she would try to come back from all this. If that miracle came around, she knew she wouldn’t want to look down at those scars in the future, though she was sure she deserved to. She didn’t see how she could stop at this point though. The Hunt was still there, still hungry. If she had to hurt someone, it was going to have to be herself from now on. 

“No, it doesn’t,” Jon snapped. Daisy jolted, startled by the force in his voice, at the same time feeling the static prickle of being Known. 

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Jon mumbled. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Hmph.” 

A couple awkward seconds passed, then Jon continued wrapping Daisy’s arm. “I’m serious though. You can’t keep doing this. It’s helping no one but the Hunt. Trust me, I’ve...tried too many times.”

“Hmm. We’re both real wreckage, aren’t we?” Daisy said.

“Yes. Real dumpster-fire people.” 

Daisy snorted. “Me, maybe. Not you though.”

“What? Daisy, I’m--”

“A mess, a complete idiot sometimes, and also a right bastard once in a while. But that didn’t stop you from mutilating yourself to save someone who wanted to kill you.” She poked him in the side where his ribs were missing, eliciting a scandalized yelp.

“All I’ve ever done is hurt people. Kill people.”

Jon considered that. Maybe it was a tad awkward that one of his only friends was a murderer. There was no denying that Daisy had been a terrible person. Yet looking at her now, Jon couldn’t help but be a little proud. He squeezed her hand. “Well. For what it’s worth, I think you...are capable of being better. But you can’t start by hurting yourself.”

“Hmm. We’ll see. The pain, it--it helps me focus on not wanting to kill. It’s exhilarating...In a twisted way, I guess. Doesn’t replace the chase, but it's something.”

“Well, find a different outlet. Buy a shit load of steak or...something.” Jon said in his pretentious I’m-right-and-you’re-not voice.

Daisy turned to look at Jon. There was a haunted look in his face. Daisy realized that he had scared himself by doing what he’d just done. He’d done a lot of reckless things in the past, she knew. Reckless acts that had gotten him badly hurt. But this was the first time time he’d deliberately and directly hurt himself for the sake of hurting himself. Unlike her, he was not used to it, and he didn’t want to be. And he was scared for Daisy too. Although, Daisy was pretty sure he was too late to start worrying about her bad coping methods. Of course he was still going to try, and probably be a pain in the ass about it if she didn’t try as well.

“Heh, you’re a good friend, you know? So that goes for you too, Jon. You’re gonna be better, yeah? And take care of yourself to do it.”

Jon’s eyes dropped. “I...Don’t know if I can. The Eye has a stronger hold on me than the Hunt does on you. It’s pretty determined to keep me.”

“Pfft. Doesn’t matter. You’re too bloody stubborn. And I’m pretty determined to keep you too. And so is Martin.”

“M-Martin? He’s--got other things to worth about now. I didn’t give him any reason to keep caring about me.”

“But he still does, Jon. He’s just as stubborn as you, you know? You’re worth it to him. So be better for him. And I’ll be better for Basira. And for you. Okay?”

“Ah--okay, yes! Yeah. We’ll be monsters together, and then, uh, not monsters for everyone we care about?”

“Not monsters. Just very fucked up people.”

“Right.”

Daisy looked at Jon’s brightening expression and had to laugh. “You know you’re blushing, right?”

“What?”

“So when did you realize you loved him back?”

Jon spluttered, his cheeks darkening further. “Uhh, erm, I--”  
Daisy laughed again. “Nevermind. Hey, you know what we need right now?”

“Um.”

“Let’s try food. I mean good food. When’s the last time you ate something other than trauma?”

Jon huffed. “Well I tried to eat a bagel today. It didn’t go very well.”

“You mean the shit that’s in the breakroom? No wonder you’re collapsing everywhere. I know you’re probably never hungry anymore, but seriously. Let’s get takeout at that fancy Indian place down the block. Shock the system back into liking food. I’ll pay.”

Jon had to smile. He doubted he would be able to keep much down, but supposed he should start making up for all the times he’d declined dinner with his coworkers--his friends. He’d missed chances with them. He wouldn’t miss anymore. 

“Alright. Th-that sounds good. Thanks Daisy.”

“Yeah. You too.”


End file.
